


Loyalty

by AlterEgon



Category: Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/pseuds/AlterEgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Puck considers the meaning of Loyalty towards his King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1shinymess (magpie4shinies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie4shinies/gifts).



> Dear 1shinymess,
> 
> So what does Puck think about being Oberon's loyal servant?  
> Here's what I think he thinks, in any case.  
> I hope you like it.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah

The Puck watched his Lord and Master at work, silently shaking his head to himself and marvelling at the infinite patience with which Oberon – King Oberon –handled every little bit of nonsense the members of his court put before him to decide, to rule on, to judge.

Being King was hard work for sure.

Even when the courtiers were leaving him in peace, Oberon could never simply put down his crown – not that he was literally wearing one, really, but Puck liked the image – and relax by the fire in his home like every other man could do after a day's work well done.

No, Oberon came home to his wife Titania who, without any consideration for her consort's need of some peace and quiet, would pose her own demands, have her own debates and quarrels with him. Oh, if only a quarrel with Titania were as easily solved as the most intricate problems that the courtiers presented!

But the King lost a lot of his cool and unfazed manner where his lady wife was concerned, his desire to give in and make her happy warring and clashing with his need to extend his rule to his own household in every word of every argument.

For Oberon loved his Titania, and, Puck assumed, she must love him, but neither of them was the type to back down easily – pride too strong, minds too stubborn to compromise unless that compromise was won in a hard battle. Collateral damage was not a rare thing in those battles, and when it occurred it, more often than not, was up to Puck to straighten things out afterwards.

He remembered the incident with the Indian changeling boy well, when both of them had laid claim to an undividable thing at once and Oberon had become creative in his retaliation.

As he watched Oberon at his work from his hiding place in the branches, he contemplated his options. There was a certain strain on the King's features already, a tightness around his mouth that suggested that he was tiring. An interruption was in order.

The Puck loved his King.

Not in the way that Oberon loved his Titania or she, it was to be hoped, loved him in return.

Not in the way that one would love a parent, child or brother. In fact, since he didn’t have any relatives, he didn't think he was even capable of that.

Not even, he thought, in the way that one loved a dear friend that one had spent many days travelling with, many nights carousing and many mornings regretting the last night – although, truth to be told, they had done all of those, more times than he cared to even attempt to count.

He loved Oberon the way he loved the rain that fed the leaves and flowers of their world, the way he loved the sun when it was warm and gentle on his face, comfortable without burning.

To him, life without his King was unimaginable. The fairy realm stood and fell with its King, and as Oberon's friend and confidant, subject and, at times, self-appointed care-taker, he had assigned himself the task of making sure that his King was remained able to face all the hardships he had to endure due to his station and his marriage.

And so he had trained himself to watch out for these minute signals that told him that his king was in need of a break, even though Oberon would not have admitted it even to himself.

So he devised little distractions that could be woven into any situation, little comments and jokes dropped at seemingly inappropriate moments to draw attention to something other than the debate at hand, to give his King the opportunity to catch his breath, to rearrange his thoughts and to, if only for a moment, regroup mentally before anyone but him noticed that his limits had been reached.

At other times, when it was not quite so easy to engineer a brief respite, he would take more drastic measures. Shooting small objects at the tedious petitioner, causing him to twitch and squirm and – hopefully – hurry up to leave the uncomfortable place before the King – while Puck himself remained safety hidden out of sight, was only the first step. He, too, had those who were loyal to him, and where necessary, he would even send one of his own creatures wandering right into the court, seeming lost.

If necessary, he would burst in, capering into the assembly with no concern for decorum or solemnity, acting as Oberon's fool – which he found himself called behind his back, at times.

They said the Puck liked to play a trick or two on people.

They said the Puck was a vain, fickle spirit, taking away his favour as quickly as he would bestow it on someone, be they fey or mortal.

He let them talk. Words meant nothing. They had long stopped to matter – somewhere around the time, centuries ago, when he had started using them to the greatest effect himself, to turn away those who would otherwise make themselves a nuisance that his King should not have to deal with.

The Puck could speak things that the King might think, but must never utter, lest he lose his subjects' admiration and loyalty.

The Puck could do things that the King might have liked to, but must not because they were simply not befitting his position.

And when all was said and done, that almost imperceptible upwards twitch of the corner of Oberon's mouth when a petitioner tried not to show his sudden discomfort at having just become the target of a prank in the middle of court, that tiny shift of facial lines from near-strained to almost-amused, was all the Puck needed to know that his work did not go unnoticed, or unappreciated.

His rewards, though unspoken, were plenty.

They were in the free, unrestrained laughter that his King shared with him on a night when he had managed to entice him away from his duties, spirit him out of the court and into a village or other place where, deep into their cups, they could forget about the hardships of life at the court.

They were in the confidences they shared when they knew themselves far from prying eyes and curious ears, when they could pretend that they were something other than king and peasant, sovereign ruler and subject.

They were in the new energy that he could see flood Oberon and replenish the stores depleted too often, too far, by the daily duties of one who commanded a kingdom as vast as that of the fey, when he gave himself to the amusement of watching one of the Puck's tricks.

So if his methods were unusual or even offensive at times, and if he applied himself to the tasks assigned to him with a little more imagination than the job theoretically called for, he knew that his every action served a dual purpose.

If, in the course of things, he lost the friendship or the goodwill of one or another of the fairy-folk, then so be it.

The Puck may not have understood brotherly love, but he certainly understood loyalty.

And his loyalty was targeted, unerringly and unquestioningly, at his King, and him only.

If any in the fairy realm or outside of it begrudged that, then so be it.


End file.
